Monday, August 18, 2014

Context. And, perspective…

I could have titled this entry a lot of different things.
Why I Shouldn’t Be Allowed Online Alone or Alienating Writers, Readers, and the
WORLD in 140 Characters or LESS! Both spring to mind. But in the end, it really
is about context. And, how I handle it (or anything else) is really about
perspective.

Earlier today, while I was sitting in my car waiting for one
of my kids, I was messaging a friend on Twitter. We were talking about a lot of
things, but one of the main topics (of this conversation and maaaaany others) was
how neurotic and basically crazy I am. That ALL writers are. If we weren’t, we
wouldn’t WRITE. Who would volunteer to have a bunch of characters stomping
through their head all day and night, waking them from deep sleep or making them
pull over on the side of the road to make notes? Poking our brains at two in
the morning. “Did you put that notepad next to your bed? NO? That was foolish.
Boot up the laptop. Might as well put some coffee on, because it’s going to be
THAT night! You’re welcome! :D” You’d
have to be a little crazy to love that. And, I do. I think most writers do.
And, not just writers. I’m that kind of reader too. I stay up late, skip meals,
ignore phone calls just so I can READ. We don’t just want to enjoy the books we
read, we want to LOVE THEM. We want to be absorbed, we want to laugh and cry
and feel all the joy and wonder that comes from walking in some character’s
shoes for a while. Readers are just like writers in that respect. We are wonderful,
gloriously crazy creatures. We are obsessive. We are dedicated. And we are
eccentric. We love what we love, we hate what hate—or, better! We sometimes
love what we hate, too—and we love to tell the world about it.

SO, anyway… When
my friend, a fellow author, was worried that she was coming off as crazy and
obsessed with someone in the publishing world she was working with, I told her
that her questions/concerns weren’t too crazy and that she should see some of
the authors on the message boards because they’re… eccentric. Now, I’m
paraphrasing because I have NO IDEA the exact wording. Why? Because I realized
SECONDS later that I didn’t send that as a PM, noooooo. NO. That was public!
Because I’m just that awesome. Now, if our entire conversation had been public—with
or without my realizing it—I wouldn’t have worried a BIT. Everything we talked
about was true, a little self-deprecating, a little funny to anyone who’s been
there, and—here’s the important part—in context,
it was all positive. She was stressed and I made a flippant joke to make her
feel better.

Once I realized what I’d done, with my heart pounding so
hard it vibrated my seat, I managed to delete the tweet. Despite my shaking
hands and the bile rising in my throat.

Context is a big deal. HUGE. It’s a make-or-break thing. 140
characters might not seem like much, but with a little context—or lack thereof,
in this case—they can be pretty damning.

But that leads me to perspective. As I was sitting in my
car, wishing I had an emergency Xanax rolling around, I was talking to a
different friend. She listened and gave all the appropriate “oh nooooo”
responses. Then I clicked on a link about something in the news. (Aside: Just
me or is the world particularly shitty lately?) Then perspective sank in. I’d messed
up—publically, no less—in a pretty bad way, one that could come off as a little
dickish. But… I’m not being shot at. I’m not being bombed. I’m not in danger
because of my orientation or the color of my skin. My children are fed and
healthy and safe. They’re not dead in a street, or a desert, or the trunk of
someone’s car. When I look at my life, everything I have to be thankful for,
everything I wish I could change about the world, all the hurt and pain... I’ve
got it pretty good.

I may be the online version of a klutz who stumbles headlong
into a wall while simultaneously flipping a bowl of boiling soup into someone’s
crotch, but I’m doing pretty good otherwise. Sorry if you got splashed with my
soup fumble, though.

…I guess that’s not the best example. Hot soup to the crotch
doesn’t really improve with context.

Ahem.

So, I will forge ahead and stop sweating over every typo or,
ya know, public-instead-of-private message, and keep trying to get it right
with social media. God help me.

NOW, to keep this blog from becoming the place where I list
my sins and mortifying moments, here’s a (very!) little teaser for something I’ve
been picking at. I hope to finish it and post it this month. I also hope you’ll be distracted enough by it
not to realize what a blundering ass I am. Or at the very least, forgive me for
being a blundering ass. >_<

The
club was jumping, hot and loud—just the way Gavin liked it. He’d been dancing
with one of his friends all night, hoping that Ben would take his invitation
and meet him there. It was his eighteenth birthday after all, and Ben had been
keeping him at arms-length for an entire year. Ever since they met. But
tonight? Gavin was finally legal and he knew how he wanted to celebrate.

About Me

J.H. Knight has been writing love stories since the second grade. When she’s not catering to the whims of her imaginary friends (whom she sometimes refers to as “characters”), she’s usually found driving her four children all over the planet, working on a school project, or saying things like “Not until your homework is done!”
A Pacific Northwest native, she loves the outdoors in every season whether she’s in the city, in the mountains, or building sloppy sandcastles with her kids on the beach. On her best days, she’s cuddled up with a good book, and on her worst days she’s tearing her hair out as she tries to decide if her sentence needs a comma or a semi-colon. She gratefully bows down in awe of editors, since she usually gets it wrong.